El Kurosaki!
by Monkeybandit2
Summary: (AU) Some actions invariably lead to responses, some of which are more drastic than others... Even so, regardless of the case, that doesn't mean he wasn't going to try to live out his life as best as he could. If anything though he prefer not having a need for politics and the occasional assassin after his head... or hollows. Or Penultimo. Which was worse was up for debate though.
1. Chapter 1

**I own neither Bleach nor Tropico. Would be a tad weird to write fan fiction if I owned either...** **or better yet both.** **(Squints.)**

 **A/N: To those who know me...** **yeah, saw the opportunity...** **FIRST!**

 **Just a starter page for now though...**

El Kurosaki!

(Viva la) Tropico(!)

"With the polls coming to a close, everyone is waiting with baited breath to see who the new Presidente is!"

He couldn't help but sometimes observe with mild amusement at how odd his meandering thoughts can become in either its journey or its final conclusion whenever he managed to notice it. They could range from all sorts of things from pondering the almost nonexistent price of a papaya in his hand to appreciating the general beauty that is the artwork of Michelangelo for example thanks to a mild tangent such as if such a person of renown ate such a fruit. Then they could then run from artwork to an advertisement simply because some advertisements, especially posters, occasionally produce works rivaling such in either pure aesthetic beauty or the sheer emotion they can evoke. From there he would wander over into literature as some advertisements either egregiously made use of tortured puns from either other works or stories or written their own little stories in an attempt to lure customers. And from there to computers... or more specifically the internet... fan fiction really...

While there are those who could write with a modicum of skill, others a legend in their own right that it's almost a shame that they do not write more published works, or worse yet maddeningly disappear and leave their stories UNFINISHED, be it curiosity or some kind of draw, Ichigo had ended up reading more than fair number of bad stories. Some of which were more horrendous than others, giving rise to the notion that some people shouldn't be aloud near a keyboard much less be given the notion that they should write something. Some of which were tolerable. But almost all these bad stories had one of the following as decreed by his own observation and musings: an overpowered character that was more or less god in that story, often a vengeful one that curb stomped _everything_ that even mildly disagreed with them with either physical violence or a seemingly 'perfect' logic; it was marginally worse when they basically slept with everything that moved as well. A self insert or Mary Sue story where they are again overpowered or had the ability to talk through situations and/or make friends out of recognized enemies taken to almost nonsensical extremes. Or, his... 'personal favorite'... where the character of interest is allegedly and even written to be 'canonically' hated to ludicrous extremes on a good day...

Sadly in this particular aspect alone he couldn't help but feel like his life was something of a bad fan fiction story in itself. More often than not these stories featuring often inexcusable hostility had a trigger of some kind be it an event the main character was unfortunately associated with or, sadly, due to the death of a beloved figure... such as his mother... While the entire family was devastated by her loss even if his sisters were too young to be truly affected by her lack of presence alone, their father... took it badly... extremely badly...

While Child Protective Services received a crap ton of criticisms over the years no matter which country it was operated by or its official name in said country, there was a valid reason it existed in the first place. As such even though he and his sisters have long since been separated he liked to think they were living well, wherever they are. He couldn't help but wonder what they looked like now from time to time. Or if they even knew they had a brother, doubtful though it was since they were still babies when he last saw them.

Regardless though, he endured. His wounds, at least the physical ones, having mended a long time ago while he was passed on from one foster family to another till he was of legal age. From there he struck out on his own and tried to make a life for himself. The operative word of course being 'tried.' Between a permanent scowl that, to his secret delight, could scare off the yakuza and his orange spiky hair that seemed to attract trouble, getting a job was difficult at best on a good day. The same could be said for getting an apartment too, even the scummy ones where the landlord is more happy to see one's money than one's credentials. As for getting into college with the hope of gaining a worthwhile job... well, that was stymied somewhat with the lack of a proper job that didn't make him want to strangle either his boss at the time or a customer... or both at the same time which was sadly often. Without a steady paycheck to at least feed himself and house himself, it practically wasn't worth pursuing if he couldn't even hope to pay for the student loans whenever his jackass boss of the week had need of a scapegoat or was actually going out of business much to everyone's shock... In the end it felt like he was running around in circles at best. At least until he entertained a rather... risky idea.

No one ever said that immigration was an inherently bad idea. But there were some risks involved, especially when there's more rumor than fact involved. As such he sought out the facts when he saw fliers other promotions for an opportunity to learn overseas in a nation called Tropico. For _free_ no less. Needless to say it was a bit suspicious to say the least...

On its face Tropico is a republic, a democracy, in the Caribbean... at least on the surface. Unofficially it was supposedly a dictatorship, though who was in control was really anyone's guess between the "Presidente" and the "Generalissimo." In fact the line was so blurred that their relationship destabilized to the point a civil war erupted, the likes of which that had the citizenry leave the island in droves for greener and, more importantly, safer pastures. Going there would have one of two outcomes for him if he entered under the pretense of learning abroad: either he was going to be conscripted into an army the minute he stepped onto their shores despite the bureaucracy involved, or, if he was insanely lucky, be enrolled in their college regardless of the outcome, as impossible as that sounded.

... sadly his prospects here in Japan weren't that much better—even on a crappy job as a soldier of fortune paid more than a _store clerk_ any day of the week. Not only that but even if he was conscripted there were at least three meals a day and a roof over his head, a necessity and given for anything passing itself as a formal military. Even if that wasn't an issue, him being recruited against his will, there was one catch toward the 'free' education: a five year stay working for the government; there was no guarantee he would even get a job worthy of the education he sought to improve his chances.

... again, sad as it was, it beats having to find a job every other week.

Since Spanish was the small island's prominent language amongst its equally small populace, what was left of it at any rate, he was forced to undergo a crash course in the foreign language alongside English given its proximity to the United States, just in case. Once he was confident he had at least a passing level of understanding he applied for a student visa for Tropico at their college, after several weeks it was accepted. After that it was a simple matter of packing his things and arranging transportation there, by boat no less. Unfortunately Tropico didn't seem to have an airport, just a dock for seaside transportation. An all purpose industrial dock at that as he later learned but that was neither here nor there. From there though... that's where things got a little... odd.

He arrived at the island and enrolled without incident thankfully enough. As luck would have it, or quite possibly due to the will of a writer given his analogy, both the Presidente, one Duran Guerrero, and the Generalissimo had ended up killing one another, at least according to the locals: evidently they had a sword fight atop of a bridge, or so the story went. How true that was was up for debate, not that he nor anyone else cared. Still, with both its official leader dead as well as its... majordomo, de facto leader maybe? Regardless, with the both of them dead there were elections being held to restore a semblance of government once more as oppose to the more fragile coexistence between the factions that remained after the civil war. Needless to say it was a who's who race between almost everyone that had some appearance of being not only important but capable of leading, i.e. the faction leaders themselves... and himself, though not by choice nor intent on his part. He wasn't even campaigning for that matter just to further cement the fact that he had _no interest_ in becoming the next Presidente of Tropico! Unfortunately though some people didn't seem to get that particular note...

As to how that happened, evidently even temporary visitors like himself had the inherent right to vote right off the bat. Whether or not they would indeed vote was another story. As for Ichigo, since he had absolutely _no idea_ as to who was who and what their goals were he wasn't exactly inclined to vote in the first place: he simply wanted to get in, get his education, get his degree and slip out as quietly as possible. He wasn't even alone in this regard when it came to his fellow immigrants and students taking advantage of the situation to get their own degrees, free of charge.

Some people didn't like that however.

The Militarists, the Religious, the Capitalists, the Communists, the whathaveyous and so on couldn't care less for the most part as to whether or not the latest immigrants decided to vote or not. The barely organized gangs calling themselves the Nationalists were of a different mind however. Since law and order was crippled for the time being they took whatever opportunity that came their way to harass immigrants in general, regardless of which side these immigrants were on, in broad daylight no less. What was worse however was that they were actively attempting to coerce each and everyone they either bullied or assaulted into voting for their own leader, or spokesman really given their more fractional gang nature, El... Skinhead, or whatever his name was... certainly looked like an American's skinhead stereotype at least. At any rate, even with policemen out and about, all the factions could do in response was circle their respective wagons and defend their own till the elections were over. As for the immigrants whom weren't aligned with anyone, they were left to fend for themselves. Ichigo himself included... The Nationalists were quick to find out that their Japanese target wasn't nearly as easy to intimidate or even accost as their other targets however.

Not being a stranger to violence, especially gang violence thanks to his hair, the unconscious bodies were starting to pile up in what was turning into one sided fights between Ichigo and the Nationalists, all of which in Ichigo's favor. Sadly though not entirely in the aspect of simply kicking racist ass enough into simply leaving him be. While it was understandable that the unallied immigrants would begin to rally around him as a result of mauling the Nationalists, others from the other political camps began to notice him as well, especially the Militarists, particularly whenever he had came to the conclusion that he had to beat the crap out of Nationalists for varying reasons whenever he happened upon them: muggings, voter intimidation, robbery, strong arm crimes in general, all of which aimed at the immigrants. Before he knew it he had himself quite the... following which only grew as more and more flocked to him under the pretense that he would beat up the Nationalists the moment he was made aware of their trouble making, which he did of course... but mostly to get his 'followers' to stop badgering him with their problems. As his fame as being the 'protector' grew his 'followers' had taken it upon themselves to add his name _to the ballot_ despite his own protests. Since then he did everything he could to avoid attention, aside from attacking Nationalists that is, within reason of course. Sadly though his scowl did little to scare off his admirers. Nor did his normally brusque attitude deter them in the slightest in their worship. Hell, he could've sworn he saw a Llama with his name shaved into its side at one point!

As noted earlier, in the end though he tried to keep to himself whenever he could. He stuck to his studies. He slept. He ate. He occasionally took a break to enjoy a game of soccer at the pub when there was almost no one but himself left in order to have some privacy. He did everything he could think of to not deliberately encourage them as he kept an ear bent in regard to the elections should the worse come to worst.

"And the ballots are counted! The new Presidente is...!"

He did his best not to tear his eyes away from the papaya to the radio sitting on the counter of a nearby shop. It was only thanks to that little device that he was afforded a measure of privacy as everyone's attention was upon it.

"Tropico's Rising Star—!"

... _Oh no._ He squinted his eyes shut and prayed to whatever god that was listening that Juanito, the predominant DJ for Tropico News Today, was not about to say what he thought he was going to say.

"Ichigo—"

 _Please let it be another Ichigo!_ He only wanted to study and get his degree damn it! It may be a degree from a backwater country but a degree was still a degree!

"Kurosaki!"

" _Ugh..._ " _Noooooooo-ho-hooo!_ He hung his head in defeat just as the first of his abhorrent admirers practically teleported themselves across the way to tackle him in a celebratory hug.

... with any luck the first ship out of here came in next month.

 **A/N: FIRST!**

 **Kind of like my other story** ** _Of Consequences: From it an Empire_** **, this was kind of the result of playing too much with a game.** **Tropico 3 specifically after a bit of a hiatus from it.** **After so many years I finally got off my ass just started playing Tropico 4 as well..** **.**

 **... It was also born with the idea as to what would happen if Bleach had a more...** **tropical background... yeah...**

 **Anyway!**

 **Kind of a one shot for now, a basis for what is to come. Going to try to reduce the number of my other unfinished stories first before I turn my full attention to it. **So until then...****

 **Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No Refunds.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I own neither Bleach nor Tropico. Would be a tad weird to write fan fiction if I owned either...** **or better yet both.** **(Squints.)**

El Kurosaki!

Chapter One: Settling in...

El Presidente's Palace, (Viva la) Tropico(! Again!), two months later

 _"_ _Good morning Tropico! It's another beautiful day for farming, mining and deforestation—OOF!"_

 _"_ _We are all children of the Earth! We need to respect our dear mother and our bark covered friends!_ _Not tear them apart for our own greed!"_

 _"_ _Oh come on Sunny! We can't exactly live on air and sunshine forever!_ _You might, but not me!_ _Personally though I'd rather not have another check bounce off my skull,"_ Jaunito groaned.

 _"_ _I'm sorry?"_

 _"_ _The bankers have been developing some mean pitching arms lately... They might even make great baseball players someday now that I think about it."_

 _Ichigo merely rolled his eyes as he listened to the radio whilst he continued his paperwork for the day. Thankfully much of it didn't require anything more substantial than a quick skim before either tossing the paper in question, signing it or placing it into a pile to the side as something of a reminder for later._ _As such his mind was adrift once more..._ _particularly to the day when he received the dreadful news of his new position in life thanks to listening to TNT._

As he remembered it he almost lasted a full day since escaping the mob once it was announced that he was their new leader. A near perfect twenty-four hours. After all his shack which he initially hidden himself away in was near identical to everyone's else's shack, unfortunate as that was between the lack of both proper housing and jobs for both him and a great many others. As such it was difficult to find amidst a _shanty town_ it was in **_despite_** his stalkers ratting him out. Even with that working against him the shanty town was essentially an unintentional labyrinth on its own with an unwittingly grand amount of hiding places for someone not wanting to be found. And when that failed? The jungle that was Tropico's island environment. He even found himself a nice abandoned mineshaft to hide in for awhile until his rabid abhorrent admirers found him with a brute force manhunt to find their recently elected, _against his will_ , Presidente. The real kicker though for him though regardless of the semi-groping he suffered while being dragged back against his will? The one thing that _really_ disturbed him in all this madness to this day? He had but one question for them all that was never answered to his satisfaction.

 _"_ _HOW'D YOU GET MY MEASUREMENTS ALREADY?!"_

They wasted _no_ time in stripping him of his dirty apparel and forcibly bathing him by a disturbing number of overeager fans, thankfully all of whom were women for the sake of his sanity... From there he was practically catapulted into what was most likely going to be his bedroom for the years to come and fitted into his new apparel for his new career of statesmanship! They didn't even bother measuring him in the slightest! Yet there he was standing in front of a mirror looking spick and span in a crisp white suit not unlike an admiral's own uniform, golden epaulets, buttons and all, along with perfectly sized and fitted dress shoes, trying to do his damndest to wrap his head throughout it all. Worse yet as he was stuck trying to keep himself from freaking out over the sheer implications of _how_ they managed to get his exact measurements in spite of not even fitting in the slightest that he was ushered and sworn into his presidency in a zombie-like state in front of a cheering crowd.

... things only got more awkward from there when he handed in his own resignation the day after much to everyone's shock. Well everyone but the Nationalist party however who subsequently drank the day and night away while praising how they dodged a bullet because of it. Neither the newfound Loyalists (aka his _STALKERS! ("TAKE DOWN THAT GIANT SHRINE OF ME! THAT'S THE EIGHT TIME THIS WEEK!_ _IT'S NOT EVEN WEDNESDAY YET!")_ and strangely enough _(at the time)_ the Militarists didn't like that... Never had the xenophobic jackasses been so happy to hide in the Foreign Aid camp, Ichigo's first and only act as Presidente before resigning, for the following week while nursing their bruises whilst both parties and then some kept dragging Ichigo back to the Palace and tossing him back in to retake the presidency...

Needless to say he relented that same week after his twenty-third escape attempt to the docks in the dead of night. Since then he was, to his own chagrin, hauling ass since it seemed that _no one_ seemed to have either the brains or even the guts, but mostly the brains, to do jack... JACK! Over half the island's infrastructure was basically demolished during the infighting be it homes, factories, civil service buildings, FARMS, and no one, NO ONE, bothered to rebuild _ANY OF IT!_ _ESPECIALLY THE FARMS!_ THEY WERE IMPORTING STUFF _(thankfully food...)_ WITHOUT EVEN A BARE BONES OUTGOING ECONOMY!

 _At that memory Ichigo practically slammed the pen he was using on the desk before him before he reached under said desk to swiftly retrieve the bottle of rum that's been helping keeping him sane for the past while. He would've gone for the shot glass too but it was faster the other way..._ _Regardless, even with a nice little buzz to calm him he set the bottle back out of sight and reclaimed his pen before going over the latest budget request to conduct a study to "determine which color ink people like better" before crumbling it up and tossing it into the third trashcan in his office that was almost full._

Were it not for a loan from the World Bank he wouldn't have been able to start up a pair of farms to get a little bit of a cash flow going whilst the Foreign Aid camp handled their nutritional and medicinal needs for now. Not only that but a logging camp was constructed to supplement their painfully slowly growing economy to start their eventual climb out of the red. In fact they might just be able to finally build a mine to really start pumping blood into the economy if _nothing_ , **_absolutely_** nothing goes wrong in the next year or two...

 _He stops mid-signing Penultimo's proposal to send a..._ _'_ _delegation'..._ _to another island on a rowboat rented from Penultimo's cousin eight times removed to glare with loathsome fury at one of the many remaining objet d'arts from his predecessor's reign:_ _a framed copy of the cover art for "A History of Murphy's Law"._ _It was also next to an almost disturbing, to him at least, picture of a kitten hanging from a tree branch with the words "Don't give up!" illustrated near the top of said picture._ _Implications aside, he just found it creepy..._ _After taking a quick look around his office, and then to the almost finished paper stack he was dealing with, he reached over and depressed a button on the intercom on his desk._ "Hey, is there anyone available to bring up an empty cart to my office?"

"Right away Presidente!"

 _Satisfied, he returned his attention back to the paper before him before pausing, reading it all over again, considering the fact they had to pay MORE MONEY to get this cockamamie scheme Penultimo cooked up to garner funding for the treasury to work (hair tonic, really?) before sighing and signing away. What difference was there for another thousand between the loan and the national debt anyway?_

Anyway...

With an iron mine they would finally be able to start raking in more serious money. Until then however he would have to do the one thing he came to absolutely despise with this job: politicking. Or, more accurately, keep people from throwing crap at him because of the crap conditions they were in in the first place. While yes they were being fed, and jobs were a tad more plentiful _(not that meant much to the fifty surplus homeless people living in the shanty town...)_... no one was really happy.

 _He didn't bother reading the last page before tossing it into the bin—try as he might, Penultimo wasn't getting that raise any time soon! Regardless with a sigh he got up from his chair and meandered his way out to the balcony behind his desk._ _From there he walked out to the edge, grabbed the safety railing and leaned over to look out to the mall the previous presidente had painstakingly cultivated before the war._ _While still beautiful enough that it drew a passive crowd to wander through it on their own time, mortar shells and bullets tore apart a good chunk of the verdant shrubbery, the statues and the fountains that were there._ _There was even still a few shells of what used to be military vehicles here and there that the workers were slowly carting off after chopping them up for salvage._

Of those who still favored him his loyalists _(-cough- stalkers –cough-)_ were a given and his bare fisted beat downs on the street gangs apparently earned him quite the respect amongst the Militarists, providing him with something along the lines of breathing room amongst a disgruntled populace, a backing. Everyone else though? Thanks to the debt Tropico was suffering from there was no money to rebuild the churches for the faithful to find solace in. No pubs or restaurants to distract the masses. Not only that but, as noted, a grand number of the houses and apartments were demolished, forcing the majority of the populace into shacks where, if not for the aid camp a plague would've sprouted up at this point for all he knew. That wasn't even mentioning having to sack a number of the state paid teachers in an effort to cut costs. And with what few soldiers he had acting as his police force for the time being, running roughshod all over the place to bring a sense of order to Tropico in the face of the growing crime rates...? His forced position as presidente was becoming more tenuous by the moment as the people were beginning to protest his rule as if he were the cause of their problems.

Worse yet there was even talk of people forming a band of rebels in the surrounding jungle...

"... morons."

With a sigh he palmed his face and groaned as he thought of his situation. Blinded by glamour or not, surely they must have realized he couldn't work miracles. Hell, he made it abundantly clear he didn't want the job in the first place. He didn't even have any sort of training toward politics or city planning beyond what could be considered common sense _(like, say, BUILDING THE FARMS IN ORDER TO NOT STARVE AND GET INTO DEBT TO BEGIN WITH!)_! But no! If anything he became the figurehead toward...

His hand slipped down from his face just enough so he could stare into the void before him in troublesome rumination.

... They, the other parties, wanted him up on this crumbling pedestal just so they could avoid the flack, didn't they? Now that he thought about it, none of the would be dictators that were his 'opponents' raised that much of a stink when he got elected! When he got on the ballot even! It certainly made much more sense given the now seemingly suspicious overwhelming victory _("85%! How?!")_.

"... Son. Of. A. Bitch."

With a growl he marched back into his office. Once he was close enough he practically lunged his finger at the intercom only to halt himself from just grazing the button in question as second thoughts began to emerge within his mind. Questions rose up: to what benefit would it serve either him or Tropico in pursuing the more intimate details of his election? If there was a conspiracy of sorts on hand and he gained the evidence toward it, how would he use it? And more importantly, if he were to go through the trouble of taking a shovel and a hammer to it all, would it be worth the trouble in the end?

Reluctantly he sighed as he drew his finger away: petty vengeance, even for the sake of self justified retribution, wasn't worth it. Besides, his own election though wanting, it would be heartless of him to put Tropico through more turmoil whilst it was struggling to recover.

... besides, it probably would involve more monotonous paperwork for him in the end. He was barely fighting it off enough to pursue a _legitimate_ college degree as it is! _("There is no such thing as a Master's Degree in Presidenting damn it! I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN IN OFFICE FOR A WEEK!")_

The double doors to his office abruptly opened, held open by the pair of soldiers on duty as a attendant shuffled in with an empty mail cart.

"How may I serve you, Presidente?"

Ichigo withheld a sigh as he gestured to the previous mementos of the previous president. "Would you mind taking all this... art out of here?" He paused long enough to take a gander at the arguably decorative pieces sprawled across the room with the hope that his amateur eye could pick out a potential profit to add to the treasury for what good it would do. Sadly however he doubted even Tropicans wanted cut out pictures from magazines, some of which had the previous presidente's face glued onto certain figures, mail order posters and broken vases that were painstakingly glued back together. "... yeah. Leave the cart on the street if you want if you think anyone wants any of this or take it straight to the incinerator. Either way works."

"Yes sir!"

"Presidente! Presidente!"

This time Ichigo had to withhold a groan as he turned toward the still open doorway. From it barreled a scrawny man with an almost weaselly like complexion and build as well as near greasy yet perfectly groomed hair to match. Even his mustache shared this quality, strangely spiffy as it was. Regardless, the attendant practically had to jump out of the way to avoid being bowled over by the single minded man whom Ichigo had unfortunately become acquainted with since day one of taking office... Penultimo. The former presidente's aid and now his. While the new president of Tropico had his suspicions as to why he hadn't tried to take the presidency for himself, after a few days of mountainous paperwork and desperately restraining himself from cracking a few heads open and _'_ _donating' their brains to science_ _ **so he could finally understand why some of these people**_ _ **WERE SO DAMN STUPID(!)**_ he opted to keep the man around for the sake of his own sanity _._ If nothing else then to delegate some of the 'lesser problems' _(aka_ _the idiots_ _...)_ onto him so Ichigo would neither have to commit his first murder and disposal of the evidence _(... though it_ _may __get him get kicked out of office..._ _It's a tempting thought at least)_ or handle the more mundane tasks like making sure what buildings they did have were being properly maintained for example. He barely regretted keeping him since then. Just barely. On some days at least.

"Good news my dear Presidente! I think I may have come up with an idea as to how to get the country out of debt!" he declared as he held up a golden card. Actually it was just a card with gold coloring on it. And numbers on it, some of which were blotted out with black circles...

"Really?" Ichigo deadpanned. Even so Penultimo eagerly nodded.

"Yes! The Caribbean Lottery! If we give each citizen a ticket then surely someone would win it!"

The presidente blankly stared at the man before slowly drifting his gaze to the lottery ticket in his hand. "And if it is a citizen neither in the know or willing to donate to the treasury?"

"It's nothing that a talk with one of our soldiers shouldn't fix!" Penultimo offered rather cheerily.

"No," Ichigo deadpanned once more before returning to his desk and sitting at it.

"Excuse me but Presidente—"

"Aw... but it could work!" Penultimo tried to defend.

"No!" Ichigo stated firmly before fishing out a particular document. "Just be happy I'm willing to go with your Traveling Sea Gypsy idea."

"Uh... sir—?"

"Really?!" He almost teleported to Ichigo's desk and practically snatched the paper straight from Ichigo's hand and spent almost as much time reading it. "The old presidente _never_ let me try my ideas! I shall not disappoint you sir!"

... maybe he shouldn't have signed off on that idea after all.

"Excuse me, Presidente?"

"Hm?"

Setting aside his worries for now, Ichigo brought his attention to the nervous servant who was practically shivering under his presidente's scowl and stare. Still though he found the strength to speak up as he pointed to a safe in the wall that Ichigo was certain wasn't there before. "Should I put these back?" the man asked as he gestured to the creepy kitten poster held out in his other hand, its size utterly perfect to cover up the particularly tall wall safe. The safe wasn't alone either. Next to it was a smaller safe the size of a post office mail locker. Above said safe was a nail hook for a picture frame. It didn't take him long to figure out which picture was originally over it.

"Penultimo," Ichigo drawled. "Why are there safes in my office?" Out of the corner of his eye he spied on his aide shrugging his shoulders as he gave an almost unintelligible response of "I don't know". Ichigo sighed, rolled his eyes and stepped closer to better observe the safes and their combination lock systems. One dial per safe thankfully, each sunken in so as to not to disturb their previous coverings. "You wouldn't by chance know the combinations to them, would you?"

With a hum Penultimo joined him and stared at the tumbler before walking forth and tinkering with the tallest of the wall mounted safes. A few moments later and with a cry of "Aha!" the man managed to open the safe and peer inside, his face contorted into an expression of awe but seconds later. "Huh. So _that's where_ he was hiding his retirement fund all this time." He spoke up once more in a grumble as he stepped back so Ichigo could poke his head inside to see what he saw. "To this day I still don't get why he never gotten a Swiss Bank Account. They're much easier to lug around!"

Ichigo ignored him in the meantime as he gaped at the solid wall of gold bricks encompassing his view within the vault. On both a hunch and out of curiosity he reached forth and removed a brick which he hefted in his hand to determine whether or not it was indeed real, not that he really noticed nor had real experience with. Even so the majority of his attention was upon another layer of gild bricks that was partially revealed by the removal of the one now in his hand. He soon set it down and pulled out another bar from the same stack he previously pilfered to give himself more space so as to reach the layer behind it. From there he spied a third level of gold bricks. Beyond that a fourth... It took him awhile to notice a grouper stick was laid against the wall of the safe, particularly when the surprisingly deep safe threatened to have him crawl inside it in order to see how many more stacks of gold bricks there were; he quit trying to figure it out after finding seven columns of gold bricks. By the time he retrieved himself from both the vault and his own curiosity however Penultimo was gone, presumably to enact his swindling of one of their island neighbors if the president was to guess. As for the attendant, Ichigo bade him to continue where he left off. Once that was settled and Ichigo sated for the time being, and with a gold brick in hand, he made for his desk only to stop when an idle craning of his head noticed something: the smaller safe had been opened. On its open door was a hastily written note in Penultimo's handwriting with the combinations to both safes.

Curious, Ichigo made a detour to his desk and placed the gold bar atop it before taking a look inside. What he saw however made his heart skip a beat... and made his situation all the more real to him. There, within the confines of the safe, were a pair of guns. An automatic and a revolver. Magnums both judging from the numerous boxes full of .44 bullets with English print on the side next to the weaponry. There was even a corked bottle on its side along with a shot glass next to it, both of which to the side of the safe. He ignored them both in favor of reaching out and retrieving the revolver. He was almost tempting to heft it in his hand much like the gold brick from before, almost. Instead he simply stared at it as its foreboding weight whispered a grim promise that only emphasized what it was that he was holding in its hand should the worse should happen...

Moments later he moved to close the door to the safe before pausing just long enough to claim both the bottle and the shot glass from within. With everything he had collected he returned to his desk and quietly sat back down. He pulled the gold bar closer to him for his own passive inspection despite not bothering to pick it up once more. He placed the magnum revolver never to it. Finally, after looking at the Tropican label, set the bottle next to them after pouring himself a glass of rum. As he leaned back into his chair and nursed his newfound vice he reached over and grabbed an old set of reports without looking. One of which was the latest statement of their debt. The other was of the rumor of a rebellion stirring. He looked to them first before looking around at the office which he had ordered to be stripped of from the previous presidente's rule before looking back to the reports. He even spared a glance toward the pair of coffers in the wall before switching over to the rebel report. After a moment he set the reports aside and reached over to the intercom once more.

"Yes Presidente?"

"We're going to need another flat cart. And can you get one of the bankers in here for me please?"

"Right away!"

He took one final sip from his shot glass before placing it on the desk with an audible 'clap.' Regardless, his attention was once more upon the gun, the gold brick and the bottle of aged and spiced rum.

"Viva La Tropico," he muttered half heartedly to himself.

 **A/N: I know what I said last chapter about settling the other stories first but in all honesty it kind of nagged at me leaving it as a single chapter despite it not being a one shot.** **Thus here you have it, another chapter!** **I hope it was to your enjoyment.**

 **In regards to the** ** _Italics_** **in use before the majority of the chapter past the radio broadcast:** **the way I see it was segregation from the story and semi-relevant actions whilst adding some flavor!** **That is my defense!** **So there!** **(*Raspberries.*)**

 **Until next time!**

 **Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.**


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